I stumbled off the stage in a sweat, my smile wide, adrenaline flowing. The concert had started out rough, with Axl arriving about 4 hours late, but that was forgotten the moment he started singing. And just for a moment I thought that things were gonna be okay for him. Now though, I was beginning to worry. As that last note hung over the mezmorized crowd, Axl had gone down under the steps, disappeared. Our manager was looking for him, saying they needed to discuss something important about a new lawsuit and shit. I was beginning to become tired of Axl’s games, but that fucker was still my best friend. I found him in a corner alone, smoking a cigarette, cracked and empty Jack Daniels bottle beside him.
“Yo Axl, ya need to get your fucking ass up now, go take care of your fucking lawsuit.” He just stared at me, eyes glazed over uncomprehending.
“Axl, you hear me. Fucking dike get your ass up now!” I grabbed him up under the arms, trying to make him stand. Instead, his entire body seemed to collapse, falling into me.
“Slash,” he whispered, his voice raspy and hoarse.
“Ya?” I asked, relieved that at least he was sober enough to recognize me.
“Help… me,” and then he passed out in my arms. I held him for a minute, unsure of what to do. All I could manage was to stare at his face, so soft and innocent in his unconsciousness. I carried him to the tour bus, laying him down on his bed.
“Yeah, we’re gonna have to cancel the interview for tomorrow morning. I don’t care if it’s fucking worldwide, he’s not gonna fucking go on his own, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna be the one to make him. Fine, fuck you to, you work for me remember! I can fucking fire you so quick man.” That taken care of I went back to Axl, sitting on the bed beside him. I placed a cool washcloth on his forehead, pressing down gently the way he had done for me before I had gotten clean. Seeing him this way, the innocence again astounded me. I stroked his hair, trying to soothe him as he moaned anxiously in his sleep. His eyes opened then, meeting mine. I expected them to harden, expected him to yell. But Axl surprised me, then again when hasn’t he? His eyes crinkled, with what I think was affection, but maybe he was still drunk. My hand continued to stroke his hair, and he reached up to grab it. Not to swat it away, but to intertwine his fingers with mine. I don’t know how long we sat like this, unmoving, my hand in his. With his other hand, he reached around my neck, tangling his fingers in my hair.
“You’re still wearing your top hat you silly fuck,” he said smiling. Then, he collapsed forward, lips touching mine lightly, delicate. I pulled him into my arms, pressing harder. I wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but thinking didn’t seem first priority at that moment. All that mattered was me, and Axl. Nothing else.
When I awakened my clothes were gone, and Axl was tucked in my embrace. What had happened last night? I hadn’t been drunk, hadn’t danced with Mr. Brownstone in months. I was unable to explain it, not even to myself. Yawning, his porcelain face looked up at me, confused again. So small he seemed in my arms, even smaller than usual. I waited for him to say something, to tell me what was going on, although I doubt he knew. We simply lay there, watching each other, neither one of us daring to move.
“So,” I said finally breaking the silence.
“Slash,” he began.
“You know what, fucking forget about it. Right, never happened man. You were drunk.” He stared at me for a second, before replying softly,
“But you weren’t.” I sat up, grabbing my jeans, hastily buttoning them, avoiding his gaze.
“I said to forget it Axl. Never happened.” When he replied again his voice was so quiet I wasn’t sure at first I had heard him right.
“What if I don’t want to forget?” My head turned quickly to look at him.
“What did ya say?”
“I said, I don’t want to forget it, Slash. Okay? Look, I know it’s fucked up, and I know I’ve said some pretty negative things about this type of thing, but you can’t say that that didn’t mean anything. Okay, it meant a lot. To me, anyways.”
